Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 2. Lever Charles James
at Brussels.”
“He have no daughter. Der Davis have no daughter.”
“Has n’t he, though? Just come over to the ‘Four Nations,’ and I ‘ll show her to you. And such a stunning girl too!”
“No, no, I never belief it – never; he did never speak to me of a daughter.”
“Whether he did or not – there she is, that’s all I know.”
The Jew shook his head, and sought refuge in his former muttering of “Ach, der Davis!”
“As far as not telling you about his daughter, I can say he never told me, and I fancy we were about as intimate as most people; but the fact is as I tell you.”
Another sigh was all his answer, and Beecher was fast reaching the limit of his patience.
“Daughter, or no daughter, I want a matter of a couple of thousand florins, – no objection to a trifle more, of course, – and wish to know how you can let me have them.”
“The Margraf was here two week ago, and he say to me, ‘Lazarus,’ say he, – ‘Lazarus, where is your goot friend Davis?’ ‘Highness,’ say I, ‘dat I know not.’ Den he say, ‘I will find him, if I go to Jerusalem;’ and I say, ‘Go to Jerusalem.’”
“What did he want with him?”
“What he want? – what every one want, and what nobody get, except how he no like – ha! ha! ha! Ach, der Davis!”
Beecher rose from his seat, uncertain how to take this continued inattention to his demand. He stood for a moment in hesitation, his eyes wandering over the walls where the pictures were hanging.
“Ah! if you do care for art, now you suit yourself, and all for a noting! I sell all dese, – dat Gerard Dow, dese two Potters, de leetle Cuyp, – a veritable treasure, and de Mieris, – de best he ever painted, and de rest, wit de land-schaft of Both, for eighty tousand seven hundred florins. It is a schenk – a gift away – noting else.”
“You forget, my excellent friend Stein,” said Beecher, with more assurance than he had yet assumed, “that it was to receive and not spend money I came here this morning.”
“You do a leetle of all de two – a leetle of both, so to say,” replied the Jew. “What moneys you want?”
“Come, this is speaking reasonably. Davis’s letter mentions a couple of thousand florins; but if you are inclined to stretch the amount to five, or even four thousand, we ‘ll not fall out about the terms.”
“How you mean – no fall out about de terms?” said the other, sharply.
“I meant that for a stray figure or so, in the way of discount, we should n’t disagree. You may, in fact, make your own bargain.”
“Make my own bargain, and pay myself too,” muttered the Jew. “Ach, der Davis, how he would laugh! – ha! ha! ha!”
“Well, I don’t see much to laugh at, old gent, except it be at my own folly, to stand here so long chaffering about these paltry two thousand florins. And now I say, ‘Yea or nay, will you book up, or not?’”
“Will you buy de Cuyp and de Wouvermans and de Ostade? – dat is the question.”
“Egad, if you furnish the ready, I ‘ll buy the Cathedral and the Cursaal. I ‘m not particular as to the investment when the cash is easily come at.”
“De cash is very easy to come at,” said the Jew, with a strange grin.
“You ‘re a trump, Lazarus!” cried Beecher, in ecstasy at his good fortune. “If I had known you some ten years ago, I ‘d have been another man to-day. I was always looking out for one really fair, honester-hearted fellow to deal with, but I never met with him till now.”
“How you have it, – gold or notes?” said Lazarus.
“Well, a little of both, I think,” said Beecher, his eyes greedily devouring the glittering little columns of gold before him.
“How your title? – how your name?” asked Stein, taking up a pen.
“My name is Annesley Beecher. You may write me the ‘Honorable Annesley Beecher.’”
“Lord of – ”
“I ‘m not Lord of anything. I’m next in succession to a peerage, that’s all.”
“He call you de Viscount – I forget de name.”
“Lackington, perhaps?”
“Yaas, dat is de name; and say, give him de moneys for his bill. Now, here is de acceptance, and here you put your sign, across dis.”
“I ‘ll write Annesley Beecher, with all my heart; but I ‘ll not write myself Lackington.”
“Den you no have de moneys, nor de Cuyp, nor de Ostade,” said the Jew, replacing the pen in the ink-bottle.
“Just let me ask you, old boy, how would it benefit you that I should commit a forgery? Is that the way you like to do business?”
“I do know myself how I like my business to do, and no man teach me.”
“What the devil did Davis mean, then, by sending me on this fool’s errand? He gave me a distinct intimation that you ‘d cash my acceptance – ”
“Am I not ready? You never go and say to der Davis dat I refuse it! Ah, der Davis!” and he sighed as if from the very bottom of his heart.
“I’ll tell him, frankly, that you made it a condition I was to sign a name that does not belong to me, —that I ‘ll tell him.”
“What care he for dat? Der Davis write his own name on it and pay it hisself.”
“Oh! and Davis was also to indorse this bill, was he?” asked Beecher.
“I should tink he do; oderwise I scarce give you de moneys.”
“That, indeed, makes some difference. Not, in reality, that it would n’t be just as much a forgery; but if the bill come back to Grog’s own hands – ”
“Ach, der Grog, – ha! ha! ha! ‘Tis so long dat I no hear de name, – Grog Davis!” and the Jew laughed till his eyes ran over.
“If there’s no other way of getting at this money – ”
“Dere is no oder way,” said Lazarus, in a tone of firmness..
“Then good-morning, friend Lazarus, for you ‘ll not catch me spoiling a stamp at that price. No, no, old fellow. I ‘m up to a thing or two, though you don’t suspect it. I only rise to the natural fly, and no mistake.”
“I make no mistake; I take vaary goot care of dat,” said Lazarus, rising, and taking off his fez, to say adieu. “I wish you de vaary goot day.”
Beecher turned away, with a stiff salutation, into the garden. He was angry with Davis, with himself, and with the whole world. It was a rare event in his life to see gold so much within his reach and yet not available, just for a scruple – a mere scruple – for, after all, what was it else? Writing “Lackington” meant nothing, if Lack-ington were never to see, much less to pay the bill. Once “taken up,” as it was sure to be by Grog, what signified it if the words across the acceptance were Lackington or Annesley Beecher? And yet, what could Davis mean by passing him off as the Viscount? Surely, for such a paltry sum as a couple of thousand florins, it was not necessary to assume his brother’s name and title. It was some “dodge,” perhaps, to acquire consequence in the eyes of his friend Lazarus that he was the travelling-companion of an English peer; and yet, if so, it was the very first time Beecher had known him yield to such a weakness. He had a meaning in it, that much was certain, for Grog made no move in the game of life without a plan! “It can’t be,” muttered Beecher to himself, – “it can’t be for the sake of any menace over me for the forgery, because he has already in his hands quite enough to push me to the wall on that score, as he takes care to remind me he might any fine morning have me ‘up’